He was inspecting this work of art when Miss Phipps entered the room. She was surprised to see him.
“Mercy on us!” she exclaimed. “WHAT in the world are you doin' downstairs here?”
Galusha blushed guiltily and hastened to explain that he was feeling quite himself, really, and so had, of course, risen and—ah—dressed.
“But I do hope, Miss Phipps,” he added, “that I haven't kept you waiting breakfast. I'm afraid I have.”
She laughed at the idea. “Indeed you haven't,” she declared. “If you don't mind my sayin' so, Mr. Bangs, the angel Gabriel couldn't keep me waitin' breakfast till half past nine on a Saturday mornin'. Primmie and I were up at half-past six sharp. That is, I got up then and Primmie was helped up about five minutes afterward. But what I want to know,” she went on, “is why you got up at all. Didn't the doctor say you were to stay abed until he came?”
“Why—why, yes, I believe he did, but you see—you see—”
“Never mind. The main thing is that you ARE up and must be pretty nearly starved. Sit right down, Mr. Bangs. Your breakfast will be ready in two shakes.”
“But Miss Phipps, I wish you wouldn't trouble about my breakfast. I feel—”
“I know how you feel; that is, I know how I should feel if I hadn't eaten a thing but toast-bread since yesterday mornin'. Sit down, Mr. Bangs.”
She hastened from the room. Galusha, the guilty feeling even more pronounced, sat down as requested. Five minutes afterward she returned to tell him that breakfast was ready. He followed her to the dining room, another comfortable, sunshiny apartment, where Primmie, grinning broadly, served him with oatmeal and boiled eggs and hot biscuits and coffee. He was eating when Doctor Powers' runabout drove up.